


Love Letters for an Idiot

by cherryblossombomb



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Dissociation, Happy Ending, Love Letters, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7159676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblossombomb/pseuds/cherryblossombomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laslow, very slowly, realises he might be in love with Xander. He confesses in a very roundabout way, and nothing works out the way he expects it to.</p>
<p>(Rating will go up and more tags will be added, wink wink.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This /will/ contain spoilers if you've not completed the game. This takes place in the Birthright 'verse, I guess, since Corrin left Nohr. :U
> 
> Sooo, you might not think it just yet, but this story is inspired by this brilliant comic: http://joltick.tumblr.com/post/145088746725/a-marxlow-version-of-this-10th-dimension-boys
> 
> I promise the next chapter will be more relevant to that comic but somehow it took me nearly 10,000 words to get Laslow to realise he has a crush on Xander. /shrugs
> 
> I hope they're not too OOC and I hope you like this fic!

**Love Letters for an Idiot**  
~~(by an idiot)~~  
  


.  
.  
.

 

"your hand  
touching mine.  
this is how  
galaxies  
collide."  
  
 - _Sanober Khan_

 

* * *

 

 

 

Laslow scrambled for his sword, feeling some relief in his fingertips when he felt the familiar hilt within his grasp, and swung around to point the blade at—

 

Nobody.

 

He could hear his own breath, rushing out, and choking a little when he inhaled again. He dropped his sword and slumped against the wall, rubbing his face. He’d dreamt… about them, again.

 

Lucina, one of his closest friends, so happy to be reunited with her father again, having gone to bed with her Falchion every night since his death. Gerome, receiving tips from his mother on grooming Minerva, watching with shocked amazement to see her alive, teaching him all the things she couldn’t in their time. Severa, dropping her guard in front of her mother, allowing her to brush her hair, allowing her to see her cry for all the lost, empty time. Owain, seeing his mother, bubbly and happy and alive, right in front of him, giggling at his awful jokes, being able to hug her while she was still moving.

 

Owain… Severa…

 

That’s right. He could go to them. They were – they were proof that all of it was real. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure. The doubt niggled at the back of his mind. The question of _is_ _this even real?_ ate away like a dull headache for days. Was he even here, right now, in Nohr? Did he ever see his mother die before his eyes, or had that been a dream? Lucina, and Gerome – everyone – were any of them…?

 

His vision blurred and he wasn’t sure if he was dizzy or about to cry, but he gripped his sword tighter to steady himself.

 

_I have to see Owain and Severa_ , he thought as he absently tugged on his tunic, fastening it with shaking hands. No. He trudged to the door and it was far harder walking than it should have been, like he was ankle-deep in quicksand, but he finally reached the doorknob. The cold metal against his palm was enough to cut through the haze and he staggered through the door, fumbling with his key to lock it behind him. Odin and Selena are their names now.

 

It seemed pointless to lock it. He didn’t have anything in there of value. The only thing he’d had since before he arrived in Nohr was his sword, and he took that with him everywhere. His room was barren and nothing personal was kept inside, but it was Prince Xander who had insisted he had his own private space in which no one could intrude, and it wouldn’t do to refuse a prince… But Xander didn’t—

 

Xander what? Didn’t act like a prince? Oh-but-he-did, he was meticulous about it, and had trained to act like a prince since the day he’d been born in order to please his father, who wasn’t worth the trouble. Laslow wouldn’t voice it, both out of fear for the king and fear of Prince Xander’s reaction. Xander strove for his father’s impossible approval, going so far as to nearly kill Corrin just to satiate his father’s lust for vengeance.

 

_Traitor_ , he had spat at her, and Laslow had seen the all-too-real pain of loss and apologies in her eyes, but she stood strong where Laslow wasn’t sure he could have. And while Xander had brooded in his chambers most nights since Corrin’s departure, Laslow knew he still didn’t hate his little sister. He still feared losing her more than anything and – and Laslow could appreciate that. But he hadn’t said it. Hadn’t brought up such things to darken Xander’s already bleak mood.

 

He dragged his feet along the cobblestone floors of the castle, wishing, as he often did, that the sun was brighter in the mornings. Not in Nohr, though; it was never bright in Nohr.

 

“Whoa, watch it!” someone said, cutting through his thoughts by grabbing his shoulders. That dissipated some of the fog in his head and his heartbeat slowed somewhat when he found Odin standing before him. He had to blink a few times to rid the mist from his eyes.

 

“Ah. Um, hello, Odin,” he finally said, the words jagged and coming out one at a time. He wanted to – to ask – something – but what? Maybe he should just continue on as usual, act normal, and deal with whatever this was on his own. So, “How are you?” he tried to ask, but choked on his words and his breath stuttered.

 

Odin ducked his head a little to try and meet Laslow’s eyes. “Laslow,” he said, voice quieter than it ever was. “I was greeting you and yet my rival did not respond.” He tilted his head. “Is there something plaguing you?” he asked. Laslow wanted to brush it off instinctively, deny the weakness his dreams brought, but the thoughts never left him. He hadn’t planned what to say when he opened his mouth, and he found no sound coming out.

 

Odin’s smile fell into a sombre frown and he wrapped his hand around Laslow’s arm and tugged him into an alcove, secluded from any passers-by, but there was a window he had never taken the time to look out of, and morning sunlight streamed through enough to warm his skin. Odin fixed his other hand back onto Laslow’s shoulder and it almost anchored him back to this world. “Inigo,” he said, softly, and Laslow’s eyes widened a little bit. He dragged his gaze up to meet Odin’s – Owain’s. “Tell me, friend.”

 

“I’m – uneasy.” The words bubbled out without his permission. “I dream of them. I wake up thinking Chrom is the Exalt, that Lucina’s smiling again because she has her father back. And then I’m awake, and Garon’s King and I serve Xander and I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.” He was surprised to hear his voice sound so level, so calm, and maybe if they paused long enough he could chuckle and brush it off as a joke.

 

But there’s a pregnant pause and Laslow stares determinedly at one of the strings on Odin’s clothes to avoid his eyes. He could deny it, but…

 

“I get it,” Odin said and squeezed his shoulders. “Selena and I, we get that too.” He was frowning, expression sombre and unfitting. Despite how they had grown up, losing everyone around them, Odin had always been a source of warmth. He grinned and regaled everyone with tales they weren’t sure whether or not to believe and nothing dampened that. “You guys get it worse than me, I think. But listen, Inigo,” he continued and, as always, he couldn’t help but respond to his name, a hopeful thread of a memory that tied him to his past. “Just because we use new names, doesn’t mean our old ones aren’t true. Just because we have new friends, doesn’t mean we no longer have our old ones. Just because we’re here, in Nohr, doesn’t mean our home isn’t real.”

 

Laslow blinked back the stinging sensation prickling in his eyes and huffed. He asked, “Are those lines from your book?” and Odin’s frown deepened into a pout.

 

“I don’t have lines in my – tome,” he corrected, bristling. “Besides, don’t you still have that notebook full of lines to use on girls? You advised Gerome to use one… What was it? Oh,” he said, smirking a little at Laslow’s slowly flushing face. “‘Hey, baby, ever ridden a wyvern before?’”

 

Laslow glanced down the hallway rapidly, cheeks bright red, and scowled in warning. “Gods,” he said, “Would you be quiet? What if someone hears?” “Why?” Odin demanded, letting go of one of Laslow’s shoulders to plant his hand on his hip and smirk. “You want to make a good impression on the folk here? Why should I allow my rival such a chance?”

 

“Blast it, Odin,” Laslow mumbled, but a warm fondness and familiarity seeped into his tone and he couldn’t help but smile at his friend. “I’ll get my revenge, you know.”

 

“You can try, but you will fail,” Odin said, and then sobered a little again. Laslow cocked his head in question, but was tugged into a brisk hug, over before he could register it. “Don’t doubt yourself, Laslow,” he said, and then: “Ah, I’m late. Prince Leo’s going to be annoyed.”

 

“What?” Laslow asked, more about the abrupt hug than what he just said, but then, “Wait, what?” He glanced at the ticking grandfather clock in the corridor and paled. “Oh, gods, Prince Xander will have my hide,” he said, groaning and rubbing his brow. “He’ll think I’ve been flirting with the ladies again.”

 

Odin levelled him with a strange little grin and said, “Then you’d best be off. Can’t disappoint the prince.”

 

Laslow huffed through his nose and turned to leave, but paused a few footsteps away. Without turning, he said, “Thank you, Odin,” and then hurried off.

 

* * *

 

 

While his… uneasiness was quelled by Odin’s words, Laslow’s hands were still shaking when he carried in Xander’s breakfast tray.

 

The milk rippled in its jug even as he paused outside the door and Serah, one of the kitchen staff, offered to carry it in for him, so it must have been noticeable. He just smiled and said, “Oh no, my lady, I couldn’t possibly allow such delicate hands meddle in so troublesome a task,” and she rolled her eyes and wandered off to her duties.

 

_Time for me to attend to mine_ , he thought, pausing for a moment before the looming oak door, and then knocking it open with his hip.

 

“ _Gooood_ morning, milord,” he sung, nudging the door shut behind him and depositing the tray of food onto Xander’s desk – beside his documents, not right in front of him.

 

Xander’s eyes scanned the rest of the sentence he was reading before they swept up to meet Laslow’s.

 

Laslow beamed.

 

“You’re late,” Xander said by way of greeting, putting down the parchment and levelling his retainer with a frown.

 

“Ah, am I?” Laslow busied himself with preparing extra details in Xander’s breakfast, which hopefully went unnoticed because he normally didn’t bother with it. His hands shook as he poured the milk into his tea. Xander’s eyes flickered down to his hands and ugh, gods, he was an _idiot_ ; of course he’d notice.

“I’ve not yet received any complaints regarding your abysmal behaviour,” Xander commented, picking up his cup of tea, probably in the hopes that Laslow would put down the milk and his papers would no longer be at risk. But he held onto the handle, gripping it a little too tightly, just to give him something to fiddle with. Xander raised a brow. “It’s a tad early in the day to be flirting with the locals.”

 

Laslow’s lips twitched into a small grin, even while he couldn’t force his heartbeat to slow down. “It’s never too early, milord,” he retorted.

 

“I swear, Laslow, if I do happen to hear of any complaints, you will be confined to my chambers. Indefinitely.” He sipped his tea with all the threatening glare he could muster behind the china teacup. The sight might have made Laslow laugh, but the hollow feeling in his stomach drowned out any mirth.

 

“But—” _that wasn’t why I was late – don’t think I’m so shallow – I’m –_ “Understood, milord.” He deflated a little. He wanted to – to spend more time with Odin and Severa, for reassurance, wanted so badly to sleep without interruption, but he couldn’t say any of that.

 

“As you were late today, you’ll stay an extra hour to make up for your negligence,” Xander decided, pushing his tea aside to pick up another piece of parchment and some ink.

 

Laslow gripped the jug of milk tighter. “Milord, I hardly think that’s fair. I’m never normally late, and I – I…” he trailed off at the grave stare on Xander’s face.

 

“You have prior engagements?” Xander asked, voice low, like it was a statement.

 

Laslow swallowed thickly. “I, um… well, you see…”

 

_Crack!_

He blinked, several times, suddenly feeling cold, and then looked down to find himself covered in milk, and the jar rested in pieces on the marble floor. “Ah.” He glanced back up to Xander to see him with wide, surprised eyes, before he dropped to his knees and grabbed for the shards. “S-sorry, milord.” His voice was shaky and his hands were trembling a little too noticeably. What was he doing? There was nothing wrong. Nobody had _died_ ; hell, nobody was even _injured_ right now. Odin and Selena were alive, and with him, reminders that he was as real as anyone else, reminders that—

 

“Laslow.”

 

The name startled him and he looked up to see Xander kneeling before him. He jerked his hand back. “Ah!” He winced, lifting his hand to his face to see blood trickle down his hand. “Sorry, I – I should – I’ll get a mop.” He moved to stand, but Xander had grabbed his arm.

 

“What on earth is the matter with you?” Xander murmured, quiet, perhaps so that nobody outside could hear. “You’re so… jumpy today. It’s unlike you. Here,” he said, and tore a scrap of fabric from his sleeve.

 

“Milord, you can’t—”

 

“Can’t I?” Xander countered as he wrapped it around Laslow’s bleeding palm.

 

“Your shirt,” Laslow said weakly, fingers curling in as if to hide the makeshift tourniquet.

 

“I have others.”

 

Laslow stared at the milk on the floor and blinked very hard to hold back the prickling tears that had threatened to spill earlier. He’d been a cry-baby as a child and he’d always found it hard to grow out of it. His mother had protected him and babied him a little too much and so when he’d lost her he’d also lost his source of confiding. While he’d had friends in Lucina and Gerome and – and why was he thinking about this? Why did everything have to remind him of _something_?

 

“You aren’t going to make me rip my shirt up any more, are you?” Xander’s low voice sliced through his reverie and he stared at him, confused, until Xander huffed and gestured a little awkwardly. “There’s no use crying over spilled milk.”

 

Laslow blinked again, slowly, and felt something tickle his chin. He swiped at it with his sleeve and found moisture seeped into the fabric. It tickled again a moment later, and he realised he was crying. Every time he blinked, a tear spilled down his cheek and dripped off his chin. He felt his face flush in embarrassment and he winced.

 

“Sorry, milord, let me just—”

 

“No, let me get the rest of this,” Xander said, carefully compiling all the broken pieces and then standing to deposit them onto the tray before eyeing Laslow again. He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket in his coat, draped over his chair, and handed it to Laslow. “Here.” Laslow was about to argue, but, “Be silent and take the darned thing.”

 

It was dark purple and made of either silk or satin and Laslow really didn’t want to dirty it, but he gripped it in his hands and smiled a watery smile. “Thank you, milord,” he said, “you’re too kind.” And he meant it.

 

Xander huffed again, a long suffering sigh, before running a hand through his hair – a nervous habit. “It’s about noon,” he said. “How’s about a break? Let’s spar. What say you, Laslow?”

 

While Laslow couldn’t argue, he knew that Xander wouldn’t force him to do it. But he smiled again, holding the handkerchief tighter, and said, “Let’s.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was odd that sparring calmed him.

 

Dancing, of course, was the most relaxing outlet, but sparring was somewhat of a comfort. In the two previous worlds he’d called home, whenever someone was stressed, someone else would offer a sparring session. It didn’t ease the memories, but it eased the strain on their shoulders, if only for a little while.

 

He caught the training sword that Xander tossed to him and caught his smile as he followed him out into the courtyard. It wasn’t as dark outside as it normally was. They took their places. Xander raised a challenging brow – and Laslow dove in.

 

Xander blocked it and slid his blade up Laslow’s, but Laslow twisted to deflect it. He shot out with his sword and spun on his heel to jab it towards Xander’s ribs. Xander sidestepped, stiffly, while Laslow swerved gracefully out of the way.

 

“You always focus on evading,” Xander commented, pushing forward.

 

Laslow was being pressed back, into the glade, but he was smirking a little. “You haven’t hit me yet, have you? It’s working.”

 

_Clang!_

 

Their blades clashed and they pressed forward, putting all their strength into pushing their blades. The swords slipped at the same time and Laslow veered out of the way. They skidded back, kicking up grass as they went.

 

“I found it infuriating, you know,” Xander said, lifting his sword and slicing the air, “when we first fought. I thought you intended to play with me.”

 

“Can’t lie, milord,” Laslow replied with a cheeky, slightly lopsided grin, “it is rather fun to do.”

 

“Oh?” Xander raised his brows. “You mean to say you’re playing with me right now?”

 

Laslow made that face – the one where he winked while he still seemed slightly unsure of himself, and Xander was relieved to see it. “Never, milord.”

 

Xander smirked.

 

He charged at him and Laslow barely raised his blade in time. He held it for a moment, but his legs quaked under Xander’s strength, and he had to slide his sword free and twist to escape – only he couldn’t; he wasn’t quick enough this time, and Xander’s sword caught him again, crashing against his with enough force to knock it from his hands.

 

Laslow’s training blade clattered to the ground and he smiled up at Xander. “Seems I’ve been beaten,” he said and, really, he should’ve been more put out about it, but he couldn’t stop smiling. Competing against Xander didn’t feel as challenging or competitive as it did with Saizo or – Gerome.

 

No, mustn’t get caught up in such thoughts. He shook them off, like a layer of dust, and found himself still pressed against a tree. He cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly at Xander, a little intimidated by the height difference. Or – no, intimidated wasn’t quite the word, but…

 

“Milord, if you might…” he started, not sure how to finish.

 

Xander blinked, obviously confused.

 

Laslow felt his cheeks warm a little. “Um, well, I should put the swords away, so…”

 

Xander glanced over to the sundial perched upon the castle entryway and Laslow tried to keep looking up at his face. But, well, at his height, he was staring straight ahead, at Xander’s exposed neck, long and strong and noble. The top laces on his shirt were undone and he never dressed so casually. Even during training, or sparring, he’d always worn armour…

 

“—low?”

 

“What?” He jerked his gaze up to meet Xander’s eyes. “Pardon?”

 

He was levelled with a perplexed stare. “Are you quite well, Laslow?” he asked slowly, obviously having repeated it already.

 

“Oh, er, yes, of course,” he said, willing himself to keep the warmth from spreading to his cheeks. “I’ll clear away the equipment,” he meant to say, but instead he said: “Milord, you’re not wearing armour today.”

 

And Xander balked a little and looked down at himself. He hadn’t realised, eh? “I suppose I’m not,” he agreed, sounding just a bit stupefied. He shrugged one shoulder, and finally dropped his arm from the tree beside Laslow’s head and took a step back. “Well, I trust you, Laslow. I don’t need to wear armour while sparring with you.”

 

Laslow’s jaw dropped and he quickly _clanked_ it shut. His lips moved in a feint to say something but he didn’t know what and nothing came out, but he felt too warm.

 

“Well, let’s tidy up then. We should get back. No doubt Father will want to ensure I’m not running behind on my tasks,” he mumbled, shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly, and Laslow jogged up by his side.

 

“I used to help my – friend, Robin, with tactics,” he said, and Xander’s eyes flashed to him. It wasn’t often he’d offer information on his ‘homeland’. “She’d have maps scattered all over the table and would ask anyone and everyone their thoughts on her plans. I stayed up many a night with her and our friends, pouring over maps.” The image was clear in his mind: Robin, hair wild, leaning over a map with a frown and a pen; Chrom, sitting nearby, smiling fondly and agreeing with whatever their tactician suggested; Lucina, never looking at the map but at her parents; Laurent, the only one to actively help Robin…

 

Ah, he was daydreaming. He shook it off and the picture of Ylisse in his head dissolved to Nohr again, but he found Xander watching him curiously and smiled.

 

“I usually went off to find something more entertaining to do,” he confessed, and Xander huffed a sigh through his nose.

 

“Flirting,” he deadpanned.

 

He winked and grinned. “You know me well, milord.”

 

* * *

 

 

The steady ticking of the clock was making Laslow tired. Since the early afternoon, Xander had been pouring over documents and drawing up plans, and it was far quieter than it had been when Robin had done the same in a room full of friends.

 

Laslow missed them all desperately, but… Xander didn’t really have anything to miss. He’d always done this alone.

 

He tried to stifle a yawn, but it broke through. Xander looked up and blinked at him, and then at the clock. “Gods, it’s so late,” he said, and looked down at the unfinished pile on his oak desk with a somewhat pained expression. “You’re dismissed, Laslow. You may go.”

 

Laslow – didn’t want to.

 

He normally jumped at the chance to leave early, to drop into the village and sit in the café with tea and try to invite ladies into conversations. But… it was a bit lonely, really. Doing that by himself. Even when he’d been losing to Gerome at romancing girls, he’d at least had a companion. A minor consolation, but…

 

It was so quiet in here. The clock was the loudest thing in the room, save for the intermittent footsteps of passing servants. He hated it. He hated how quiet his chambers were, how cold and foreign they were, and found he much preferred the tents he’d often been stationed in in-between battles; they’d all stay up late around the fire, eating and singing and telling stories. Ah, he’d never quite worked up the nerve to dance in front of them though.

 

“I’m all right,” he said. “I can hardly leave you with no tea and no company while you force yourself to finish that god awful work.”

 

Xander’s lips twitched. “You say that, and yet I’m certain you were snoring no less than five minutes ago.”

 

Laslow flushed a little. Why had he done that so much today? Gods, he thought he’d gotten past some of his… shyness. “Well,” he said, “I’m amazed you’ve not fallen asleep, doing that.” He frowned in distaste at the unjust amount of work Xander had to endure.

 

“It’s really not so bad,” Xander said, but dropped his quill to rub his eyes. “Being the eldest means I must fulfil such obligations.”

 

“Surely you can take breaks though.”

 

“I did earlier, when we sparred.”

 

Gods, this man was as narrow-minded as Gerome could be.

 

“Who’s Gerome?”

 

Laslow’s eyes darted up and he stuttered, “U-uh.” Damn, had he said that out loud? He was too tired. Or crazy. Or both. Probably both. “He was – he’s a friend. From home.”

 

“Home, eh…” Xander said, and that was that. Because Xander wouldn’t press him; he knew Laslow didn’t like to talk about it, even though he didn’t know why.

 

But then he remembered:

 

_“Well, I trust you Laslow.”_

 

He looked at his hands, picking at the old scar Minerva had given him once upon a time. “He had a wyvern. He was… probably my best friend? Along with Odin. He wore a mask.” He wasn’t saying anything important. It was nonsense, really, but Xander’s attention was trained on him and he felt a little too warm. “Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

 

“It’s… nice to hear you be so open with me,” Xander said quietly, a small, private smile lighting his face that left Laslow momentarily speechless. He sometimes caught Xander with this smile on his face – when he looked at his siblings when he thought no one was paying attention to him, like when Leo _finally_ managed to cast a spell he’d been practicing for weeks, or when Elise ran around handing out cookies she’d baked to anyone and everyone, or when Camilla dropped her guard and let herself laugh. But Laslow had never had it directed towards… _himself_ before. Laslow must have been silent for too long because Xander’s eyes dropped back to his work and he said, “You may stay if you wish, but you’re free to leave.”

 

So Laslow scooted his chair a little closer and nibbled on one of the shortbreads as he watched Xander’s quill fly across the parchment. His handwriting was so graceful. He’d probably practiced it a lot as a child.

 

His eyelids drooped lower and soon the words he tried to follow blurred into one and his head fell against the desk with a dull _thunk_.

 

* * *

 

 

_Pink hair mottled with dirty red, shaking fingers lifting up to brush the tears off his face, a sad smile on his mother’s face as he held her in his arms. “Be strong, my darling. Don’t let anything break your spirit.”_

_“I’m trying, Mother, truly, I am, but—”_

_She smiled. And then, he nearly fell as she disappeared, erupting into light particles before vanishing again._

_“Mother—!” he shouted at the same time as someone else, and turned to see Owain’s aggrieved face. Lissa was stood before him, stock still – she’d just blocked a hit, hadn’t she? “Mother, no!”_

_Inigo wanted to run to him, to stop the never-ending battle, to help his friend and save their parents, but his legs wouldn’t move. He looked down to find his ankles stuck in swamp water, dragging him down, and he couldn’t pull free._

_Kjelle, screaming somewhere far away and – no, Sully couldn’t have fallen, could she? She was so strong—_

_“ROBIN!”_

_His heart stopped. That was Chrom’s voice. Robin – Robin was here? But—_

_Which world was he in? Which time? Was it their first world, repeating itself, or had they gone back to the past and failed again? Where was he? What was—?_

“Laslow!”

 

It was the volume more than the name that jerked him awake. He choked on his breathe and toppled out of his chair, struggling to free himself and gasping until he realised he was grappling with a blanket. He gasped stuttering little breaths that didn’t give him enough air and flinched when something touched his shoulder.

 

“Laslow, do you hear me? It’s me, Xander.”

 

Xander.

 

_Xander_.

 

That’s right. Nohr. He was in Nohr. He was Xander’s retainer. They hadn’t failed to save their parents a second time. He had come here after the war.

 

“Xander – milord – sorry,” he started, forgetting himself, and scrambled to loosen the blanket around him so he could stand and excuse himself and hide his embarrassment. He nearly managed to stand when he took one step backwards and his feet caught in the blanket and he stumbled onto his backside. He flushed darkly. Oh, gods, this was humiliating…

 

“Pfft—”

 

He blinked and looked up through an opening in the blanket, staring in surprise at Xander, who had a hand cupped over his mouth as he tried not to laugh.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Xander tried to say through a fit of chuckles, “but you’re so talented with a sword and such a graceful dancer, I don’t know how you let a blanket best you.”

 

Laslow tried to frown, but he was definitely just pouting. Xander had the decency to feign guilt and leaned down to easily pull the offending blanket off of Laslow’s head. His smile held a twinge of concern as he offered Laslow a hand.

 

Laslow felt his heart stutter to a stop, but when he took Xander’s hand, it sped up a bit too fast and worried it might try to break through his chest. Xander pulled him up with ease and he staggered against his chest. He jerked away immediately, blushing furiously, and pretended to adjust his tunic.

 

“Terribly sorry, milord,” he said, staring intently at the hem of his tunic just to avoid his eyes, “I seem to have caused you far more trouble than if I’d left earlier.”

 

“You are a troublesome one, Laslow,” Xander agreed. “It’s quite all right. I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

 

Laslow couldn’t _stop_ himself from looking up, and tried to smile through his embarrassment when he saw Xander smiling at him. But then the smile faded and Xander looked sombre-and-serious and Laslow went back to picking at his sleeves.

 

“I should be off to my chambers, I suppose,” Laslow said. “I do hope I didn’t wake you, milord.”

 

“I’d fallen asleep on my desk,” Xander admitted, and Laslow had to wonder if he did that often. He did seem a bit too worn out every morning when Laslow arrived.

 

“Ah, if I may ask – what’s the time, milord?”

 

“Around two in the morning, just past.”

 

Laslow winced. “I’ve stayed far beyond my welcome. I’m sorry, I’ll be on my way – and on time, later on.” He tried not to scurry to the door, but knew he probably looked pretty pathetic nonetheless.

 

“Laslow,” Xander said as he touched the doorknob, and he faltered. “Are you well?”

 

_Are you okay?_

 

He stared over his shoulder, surprised, before softening and smiling. “Yes, milord. Goodnight.” He left, closing the door slowly behind him, and leaned against it for a moment, heaving a long sigh.

 

His heartbeat finally slowed and he cupped his own cheeks, flushing again. What was his problem? He didn’t normally get this flustered. Perhaps he _was_ getting sick.

 

His hands dropped to his sides and he started when he brushed something too-soft. _Oh, the blanket_ , he realised, and rubbed his thumb over the silk before turning to knock at the door – and then froze.

 

_I should return it_ , he thought.

 

He held the blanket closer. It smelled of sandalwood and mint and faintly of ink. His fist fell back to his side.

 

Xander was probably getting in bed now. It wouldn’t do to enter his chambers again now that he’d left already…

 

_I’ll return it tomorrow._

 

* * *

 

 

He had intended to return it. Truly, he did. But he’d gotten ready and left and locked his door already, and what if he’d been late if he’d gone back to get it? He’d simply have to do it later. It wasn’t as if Xander was short on blankets anyway.

 

“What are you grinning about?”

 

He turned to see Selena scowling at him from outside the window, her hair tousled and a bead of sweat dropping from her chin. “Thinking about you, of course, my dear Selena,” he said with a wink. She stared at him blankly. “Have you been training?”

 

“Camilla said it was too nice a day not to be outside,” she said with a shrug. “I think she’s just bored.”

 

Laslow smiled softly. “Perhaps she’s preoccupying herself,” he suggested. “She probably misses Corrin.”

 

Selena’s sharp eyes zipped up to his and he shuffled uncomfortably. “Well, I mustn’t be late. Prince Xander—”

 

“Do you miss them?”

 

He froze, eyes a bit too wide, smile stuck on his face even as he felt like ice water had been dumped down his back. “Beg pardon?”

 

She glared daggers, but they fell short. She glanced to the side and looked more sad than angry. “You heard me.”

 

_“I get it,”_ Odin had said yesterday. _“Selena and I, we get that too.”_

Laslow inhaled deeply and said, “Yes. All the time.” He stepped towards her and clapped a hand on her arm and she looked at him, more open and scared than she’d seemed in a long time. “I dream about them. Lord Xander woke me from a nightmare last night. Sometimes, I worry it’s not real and I’ve gone crazy.” Selena frowned and her shoulders tensed and she probably felt the same. “But you and Odin remind me that I’m not. That it was – is all real, and we’ll see them again, once our part in this is all over.” He squeezed her arm and smiled.

 

She actually spared a fleeting moment to smile back before it transformed into a smirk. “Lord Xander woke you?” she asked and he didn’t like where this could be going. “He was in your chambers?”

 

“No!” he sputtered, flushing darkly and crossing his arms behind his back. “I was in his – but just – I stayed late to help him with his work. But I ended up falling asleep. He woke me from a nightmare and I—” _No, Laslow, stop, she’s grinning, stop talking, this is bad_.

 

“And youuu…?” she drawled, tilting her head.

 

“H-his – he’d put a blanket over me. I tripped. A lot.” His face felt far too warm to be healthy, especially considering Nohr’s ever-chilly weather.

 

Selena smirked, all sharp angles and teeth, and she was about to say something when: “Seleeena, darling!”

 

Camilla. Oh, thank the gods.

 

But also: oh, gods, no.

 

“I’d best be off, then,” Laslow said with a quick wave and turned on his heel – only to end up face to chest with – “L-Lady Camilla!”

 

“You were discussing something very interesting,” she said with a closed-eyed smile. Laslow took a step back and smiled nervously at her. “My brother gave you a blanket? He can be so sweet when he wants to be.”

 

“Ah, um. Yes, he’s quite the gentlemen,” he agreed amicably, desperately wishing to escape. “He did laugh at me though.”

 

Her eyes opened at that and she paused before smiling again. “Oh, how wonderful.”

 

“Y-yes,” he said, stiffening his shoulders. “I’d best – get to him. Before I’m late.”

 

“We wouldn’t want to be late for my older brother, would we?” she said, and stepped out of his way. “Good luck, Laslow.”

 

He blinked, bewildered. “Ah, thank… you?” He paused. “May I ask what for?”

 

Camilla chuckled softly. “You’ve grown fond of him, haven’t you?”

 

He stared at her blankly. “Milady?”

 

“My brother. You care for him.”

 

“Um.” He looked at Selena, who lost her smirk and seemed oddly curious. “We’ve grown to be quite good friends?” he agreed, sounding very unsure of himself.

 

Camilla’s somewhat intimidating smile softened. “I’m glad,” she said. “Xander’s never had many friends. Thank you for making him happy.”

 

He gaped for a moment before clearing his throat. “Oh, you needn’t thank me, Milady. But – forgive me, I must be on my way.”

 

As he half-jogged to Xander’s chambers, he had to wonder, _What was that about?_

 

* * *

 

 

When it reached noon and Xander didn’t look up from his work, Laslow heard himself speak before he realised he did when he said, “Do you want to go get tea?”

 

Xander looked up as if he’d forgotten he was there, checked the cloak, and dropped his quill. “Is that the time?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You should take your break. I have to finish this. Have Pieri send up some tea, if you will.”

 

Laslow frowned for just a moment before beaming again, and saddled up to the desk, pinched Xander’s quill from between his fingertips, and shook his head. “It will do you no good to sit in this dusty old room all day,” he admonished, despite the fact that it wasn’t dusty in the least; servants came in every day to clean it. In fact, it wasn’t very personal at all, much like Laslow’s own room. There were bookshelves filled to the brim with tactical plans, war history, and languages, but Laslow doubted Xander read those for pleasure. “Let’s go for tea.”

 

Xander scowled. “Laslow, my quill.”

 

“If you want it, come and get it,” Laslow taunted, waving it around as he backed up towards the door.

 

“Give me my quill.”

 

“No.”

 

“ _Laslow_.”

 

“ _Xander_.”

 

Xander froze, and Laslow briefly wondered if he’d overstepped the line by saying his name, and then his chair screeched as he stood and he stormed towards Laslow. He laughed nervously, but held onto the quill. Xander didn’t stop, though, and Laslow backed up until his back was pressed against the door. He glanced behind him nervously and then back to Xander, who was right in front of him. He leaned down and Laslow clenched his eyes shut, heart thundering in his chest, and then—

 

“Very well.”

 

He opened his eyes and an embarrassing squeak escaped his throat when Xander leaned over him – and grabbed his cloak. He smelled just like the blanket…

 

“Well? I’d like to get my quill back sooner rather than later.” Xander quirked a brow.

 

Laslow blinked away the haze from his head and laughed nervously. “Ah, right. Yes. Let’s go.”

 

But _why_ hadn’t his heart stopped its damned beating?

 

* * *

 

 

He took Xander into town, through the courtyard, and they sat outside the café he’d spent so much time in.

 

A familiar waitress spotted him and rolled her eyes before noticing he had company. “Well, this is different,” she commented, and Laslow smiled innocently. “I’d thought you were simply a friendless pervert, but—” and then she dropped her notebook when she turned to see Prince Xander sitting opposite him. “Oh, my – P-Prince Xander, forgive me, I—”

 

“Please, hold,” Xander said with a sigh. “I’m well aware of my retainer’s… behaviour. You’re quite right.”

 

Laslow pouted. “Now, now, milord, there’s no need… I’d like to make a good impression.” But that… wasn’t really what bothered him about Xander’s response. ‘Retainer,’ he’d called him. Which… was true, of course, yes. But – well. He thought maybe they were…

 

Friends.

 

He shook the thought off because it was ridiculous. Why would he be bothered by a prince referring to him by his job title? Of course they couldn’t be too familiar; Laslow wasn’t royalty. Laslow wasn’t…

 

His thoughts dissolved when he heard giggles. The waitress, normally so offish around him, was swaying back and forth and smiling shyly at Xander, who was smiling back.

 

Laslow scowled down at the menu but didn’t actually read anything. He gritted his teeth and tried very hard not to listen to their conversation.

 

Ugh, this always happened when he went to impress girls. Someone else, someone cooler and more attractive and charismatic would woo them instead. Xander probably never left his blasted chambers before, and he already had someone swooning over him.

 

“—would you like to order?”

 

“Oh, um…”

 

Laslow looked up to find Xander’s eyes flickering from the menu up to him. _You’d think he’d be more confident about ordering food_ , thought Laslow. _He has it brought to him every day._ He considered allowing Xander to flounder for a while but felt guilty as soon as he thought about it.

 

“I usually have their breakfast tea,” he offered, “but their green tea and Dame Lilac teas are both calming and not too overpowering. Camomile is calming, which might be good for someone like you.”

 

Xander looked a little lost with all the information, as if he’d never been provided such an assortment of choices, and he looked almost like a little kid with that expression. Laslow smiled softly. Ahhh, he couldn’t be annoyed at the blasted man. He wasn’t trying to flirt at all – he’d never. He was just so… so…

 

“We’ll have camomile tea, please,” he said, and the girl finally tore her gaze from Xander. “And – what would you like to eat, milord?” he asked before the waitress could.

 

Xander just shook his head. “I’ll defer that decision to you, Laslow.”

 

“Could we have almond croissants, please?” He beamed at the waitress and she jotted it down without looking away from Xander.

 

A few beats, and then – “Oh, of course, I’ll – be right back.”

 

She scurried off and as soon as she disappeared inside, Xander frowned. “Am I that scary to look at?”

 

Laslow balked, bewildered. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“She seemed nervous.” He sighed through his nose and folded his arms in front of him before remembering not to do that at the table, and awkwardly leaned back in his chair. And then straightening again.

 

“ _You_ seem nervous,” Laslow countered. “She was, yes. Who wouldn’t be, in front of the Prince of Nohr?” He snorted, but Xander’s brows furrowed more. “She _likes_ you, milord. She isn’t _scared_ of you.”

 

Xander looked up with eyes just a bit wider than usual. “Ah,” he said, softly.

 

And something bubbled in Laslow’s chest that he had to push down to let himself say, “Why don’t you ask her out?”

 

“No.” It was immediate and frosty.

 

“Have you ever been on a date, milord?” he asked, tilting his head.

 

“No,” he said again, but with less coldness this time.

 

_Because of my father_ , he would probably say, but Laslow asked anyway: “Why ever not?”

 

“You know why,” Xander said, resting his elbows on the table again as he forgot himself. “I’m a Prince of Nohr, first in line to the throne. I’m intimidating. I lead troops to battle; I don’t… pass out cookies like Elise.” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be allowed.”

 

“Will you ever?” Laslow asked, not looking away from him. “Court someone, I mean.”

 

Xander looked more displeased than hopeful. “I suppose I’ll have to, one day,” he said, “when I’m to be King and Father finds me a suitable wife.”

 

It sounded recited.

 

“Is that what he’s always told you?” Laslow asked, quietly. He didn’t like King Garon. Wasn’t sure anybody did, save for his children, who seemed to confuse fear and obligation for love. Corrin was the only one who’d made the distinction when Garon had ordered her to _kill_ someone. It… scared Laslow, a little bit, to hear Xander so fully dedicated to his father that he was prepared to fight his sister for disobeying him.

 

Garon was nothing like Chrom. Chrom was – airheaded, sometimes, yes, but kind. He was merciful and fair and always willing to help. He was too kind, some thought, but that was where his strength stemmed from and his kindness was admirable in times of war. Lucina inherited that quiet, compassionate strength – but Xander had never been taught that. Nor had Camilla, Corrin, Leo, or Elise. And yet they had moments where they looked sad or uneasy after returning from a battle or after seeing their father, and Laslow knew they didn’t fully agree with him.

 

“You don’t have to listen to him forever,” Laslow said without thinking. Xander’s eyes snapped to him, burning, and he shrunk a little in his chair. “Someday, you will be king. Someday, you won’t have to take his orders. None of you will.”

 

Xander glared at that. “We—”

 

But then a tea set was placed delicately before them, and the clink of china interrupted him. The waitress smiled and poured the honey-brown tea into their cups and bowed.

 

“Please enjoy,” she said, smiling at Xander.

 

He smiled back, uncertainly, but she visibly brightened and scampered off to another waitress, grinning at her and squeaking something they couldn’t hear but could guess.

 

Laslow swallowed down the lump of _something_ in his throat with a mouthful of hot tea. It burned his tongue and he was thankful for the distraction.

 

* * *

 

 

The evening was tense.

 

Xander was quiet after their outing and went straight back to work when they returned. Laslow’s hands were trembling and he wasn’t sure why but _words_ wanted to escape his throat but he wasn’t sure what he’d say.

 

He was _jealous_.

 

How could he not be? It wasn’t fair. Xander was _perfect_.

 

Well, no. Not quite. He was stubborn and didn’t listen to others unless they were _Father_ and was too often angry-and-stern and that was why his younger siblings went to Camilla for support instead. He advocated and forgave his father’s actions, even though he’d tried to _kill Corrin_ , and he made excuses for him while being hard on himself. He was a workaholic and locked himself away in the dark to write everything about nothing that his father would probably never bother reading anyway.

 

But he was always on guard and ensured his siblings would never get into trouble, didn’t trust Hans and guaranteed that Corrin had fair warning of him. He always preferred eating Elise’s cookies than the expensive ones but he was always polite with servants and thanked them for their hard work. He acted like a prince but in the best possible way and maybe if he’d had a father like Chrom he’d have been _happier_ and more _open_. He was attractive, annoyingly, because what didn’t he have going for him?—except for his blasted father—with his – his pale blond hair that looked a little _too_ soft, and his maddening _tallness_ that made Laslow have to look up when they were too close, his broad shoulders that Laslow could only dream of.

 

Having. Dream of having. Not—well…

 

Well.

 

The clock struck seven and Laslow stopped polishing the vase he’d been wiping for too long. He put it down with a too-loud _clang_ that echoed in the room and said, “Time for me to go.”

 

“Wait, Laslow,” Xander called and Laslow tried not to groan. If he’d had something to ask of him, couldn’t he have done so _before_ it was his time to leave?

 

“Yes, milord?”

 

“What you said about my father,” Xander said, and then faltered. “He’s – he does his best. For Nohr. For all of us. He means well.”

 

_Why are you defending him?_ Laslow wanted to ask, but it wasn’t his place. “The king where I’m from,” he said instead, “is kind. He’s a shepherd. He leaves his castle to help the commoners. He travels to find ways he can help other villagers. He accepts everyone, no matter who they are.” And perhaps saying this was worse than asking why Xander defended his father, because this was a loaded accusation of _your father isn’t a good man_.

 

And Xander had heard the underlying meaning because he bristled, straightening, and said, “My father may not be _kind_ ,” and the word was spat with venom like it was an insult, “but he’s a great man. He’s been in more wars than you’ve been alive to hear of.”

 

Laslow snorted at that and Xander took it the wrong way. Laslow had been in two wars – this, here, in Nohr, this was his third, for pity’s sake. He was young, yes, but he’d seen countless people die. His friends had held their parents as they died in their arms, but none of them had turned into tyrants. “Even if he’s a ‘Great Man,’” Laslow said, words laced with toxic sarcasm, “He’s certainly not a _good_ one. He wanted Corrin to _kill_ people. He tried to send her to her _death_. My king would _never_ —”

 

“Then perhaps you should return to _your king_.”

 

Laslow stopped.

 

He went cold and swallowed thickly around the words that had just died in his throat. When he looked up, Xander looked conflicted. The fury was still burning in the back of his eyes, like embers dying out, but he also looked – “Sorry, Laslow. That was… unfair.”

 

Laslow clenched his fists tightly and winced when his nails dug into where he’d cut his palm yesterday. “I apologise too, milord. I shouldn’t have criticised your father.”

 

They fell into a silence, more awkward than any silence they’d shared before. Lately, the quiet of the room was filled by Xander’s squill scratching his paper, his low breaths and sighs as he tried to concentrate, the occasional _clink_ of china as he filled his tea cup to keep him awake.

 

Only the ticking of the clock filled it now, and Laslow wanted to leave.

 

“Goodnight, milord,” he said, and left before Xander could properly dismiss him.

 

He walked to his chambers on autopilot, staring at the floor with blurred vision, and didn’t see himself opening his door. He didn’t bother washing his face or anything, but simply fell onto his bed.

 

“I miss them,” he whispered to no one, and clutched the blanket closer.

 

Sandalwood, mint, and ink.

 

He kicked it off and buried his face in his pillow.

 

* * *

 

 

Laslow _really_ did-not-want-to go to Xander’s chambers today.

 

But he had to. It was his godsforsaken job.

 

So he dragged himself out of bed and splashed cold water on his face to wake himself up. He went to his door, but then stomped back over to pick up the stupid silk blanket and—

 

“I should take this back to him,” he mumbled, running a hand over it… and then put it carefully back on his bed. “I’m going to be late.”

 

He left and locked his door and, for the first time, felt a need for it to be locked.

 

* * *

 

 

He didn’t much care if he was late today. He didn’t much care if Xander was angry, either. He’d probably just give him a boring lecture and send him on his way; he probably didn’t want to see him anyway. He could just trade duties with Pieri.

 

So he approached his usual café and ordered breakfast tea because he couldn’t get the taste of camomile out of his mouth since yesterday. The waiter went to fetch his order and then he was approached by the waitress from yesterday.

 

“Lord Xander isn’t with you today?” she asked.

 

“No,” he grated out. But when she looked at him, he smiled and said, “But I didn’t want to disappoint, lovely lady.”

 

“Then you shouldn’t have shown up at all,” she deadpanned. He chuckled, but she eyed him for a moment. “Hey, have you slept at all? You look tired.”

 

He blinked in surprise before winking with a small grin. “Aha… You’re concerned for me, my dear? That’s sweet of you. Seeing your face makes me feel better though.”

 

She rolled her eyes and bonked him on the head with her pad of paper. “Well, anyway, have a good day, Laslow,” she said and walked over to a new table.

 

He stared, shocked she remembered his name, and flushed. He absently thanked the waiter for his tea, but it went cold while he sat staring at the empty seat opposite him.

 

* * *

 

 

As he wandered lethargically through the corridors, he found himself swerving to avoid rushing butlers and maids alike, all carrying arrays of foods and fabrics. He rather missed Jakob, who would have informed him of every detail of whatever was happening, but… well, he was with Corrin.

 

But then he spotted Charlotte, peeking outside from behind a stone pillar. “Good morning, fair Charlotte,” he said.

 

She jumped before levelling him with a scowl and pressing a finger to her lips. “ _Shhh_ ,” she hissed.

 

“Well, I must say, this is somewhat suspicious,” he mumbled, quieting his tone for her nonetheless. He couldn’t say no to a lady. “May I ask what you’re up to?”

 

“Who says I’m up to anything?” she countered, glancing back behind the wall. “That tourney is today, isn’t it? Some nobles and such are visiting for the festivities. I’m hoping to find at least a couple of wealthy men.”

 

“The…” he trailed off, staring blankly into the courtyard filled with foreign faces, polishing their blades and brushing their horses. “The tourney?!”

 

“Shut _up_ ,” Charlotte snapped, slapping a hand over his mouth and glowering darkly.

 

“Oh, gods, I completely forgot,” he sputtered, paling.

 

Charlotte sighed and pushed him further away from the corner so they wouldn’t be overheard. “What is your _problem_ , Laslow? I’m _people watching_.”

 

“Lord Xander’s participating and I’m running late because I was mad at him and now I’ll likely be flogged or – or worse, and I’m too _young_ to die.”

 

“Lord Xander wouldn’t hurt you,” Charlotte said, and then smiled shyly as a man passed by. He blushed and walked into a pole before grinning and waving back and then running outside. Her face darkened when he was gone. Laslow ignored it.

 

“I was to dress him – his armour. For the jousting. Tourney. Oh, by the gods, I’m dead.”

 

“I’ll do it for you,” Charlotte offered innocuously, but a sly look glinted in her eyes and Laslow smiled nervously.

 

“That’s… nice of you, but I shouldn’t shirk my duties. Even if I might be killed,” he said, miserably.

 

She slapped his arm. “You’ll be fine. Xander _likes_ you,” she said, huffing. “Maybe you’re his type. I should try acting like that sometime.”

 

“His… What?” Laslow shook his head. “Anyway, I have to go. Farewell, Charlotte!”

 

She watched him go with a wily smirk. “So easy.”

 

* * *

 

 

Laslow found Xander’s tent through Selena’s directions—“To the right of the courtyard, at the back. How did you forget the tourney, you moron? You’re lucky I pay attention.”—and crept into the tent to find Xander trying to slide his own pauldrons on.

 

“Ah—milord, allow me to help with that,” he said, sidling up to his side to fasten them on properly.

 

Xander just stared straight ahead. “You’re late, Laslow,” he said.

 

Laslow winced. “Yes, sir, I know.”

 

“By two and a half hours.”

  
  
Laslow moved to the other pauldron, swallowing nervously. “I’m terribly sorry, milord, I—” and then he saw the blue scrap of fabric tied to Xander’s arm. “Milord, what’s that?” he asked, heartbeat thrumming in his ears too-loudly.

 

Xander scowled, preparing to admonish him for changing the subject, but then followed his line of sight to see the fabric. “Oh,” he said. “That maid – er, waitress, from the café the other day. She dropped by.”

 

“She… gave you a favour.”

  
  
Xander looked a little uncomfortable and shuffled from foot to foot. “I suppose she did.” He cleared his throat. “Laslow, are you going to finish this, or do I have to do it myself after all?”

 

And Laslow realised his hands had stilled against Xander’s back and he could hear his blood rushing and his eyes stung and he – he wasn’t… sure… why…

 

“No, I – I’ve got it. I’ve…” His fingers fumbled for the next plate of armour and he dropped it with a loud, echoing _clang_. “Gods, sorry, butter fingers,” he said with a nervous laugh as he fell to his knees to pick it up.

 

A hand touched his and he flinched.

 

“Laslow,” Xander said, “calm down. I’m not _that_ angry.”

 

Laslow’s breath stuttered and he let out a weak laugh. “Oh – that’s not – well…” Ugh, why was he stuttering?

 

“Then what is it?” Xander demanded – but, no, he didn’t demand it. He sounded intimidating, but he really wasn’t. He was concerned, and Laslow felt like an asshole.

 

“It’s just—” – _I’m jealous_ – “I’m… I suppose I’m a bit jealous.”

 

Xander looked bewildered. Honestly, was he so clueless about this sort of thing? Then, while he hadn’t be as sheltered as Corrin or his younger siblings, he still hadn’t grown up as freely as Laslow and his friends had done… He shouldn’t be so hard on him.

 

“Every time I go out with a man,” he said and – oh, no, that didn’t sound – “W-with a friend, I mean. Who’s a man. He always… upstages me. Girls always fall for him instead of me.” _You were looking at her too._ “You managed to make her laugh.” _She made you laugh too. You never laugh._ “You’re not charismatic at all but she was so flustered around you. You’re stubborn and grumpy but you seemed unsure of yourself and that – she thought you were cute, or something, but I’m just…” He sighed. “I’m just me.”

 

“What’s wrong with that?” Xander asked, sounding completely confused and out of his element. His brows were furrowed and he rolled his shoulder, uncomfortable. Laslow went to adjust the left pauldron. “Camilla would openly tell you I had few friends growing up,” he said, snorting, “so I’m rather new to interacting with others. My first retainers were also my first friends.”

 

Laslow moved to stick another piece of his black armour on.

 

“I seem intimidating to most people. My siblings don’t even come to me for advice. I don’t want…” He trailed off and Laslow looked up, more curious than ever by Xander’s unusual divulgence.

 

“You don’t want… what?” he asked, quietly.

 

“I don’t want,” he repeated, like it was hard to say it, like he was uneasy he might be overheard, like he’d never voiced this thought before, “to end up like my father.”

 

And Laslow swallowed thickly. Xander had – he had listened to him. And thought about his words, taken them to heart. And now he was confiding in him. Laslow.

 

“You’re nothing like your father,” Laslow said in a low voice, craning his neck to look up at Xander. He pressed the chest piece onto his torso, feeling his skin prickling. “I shouldn’t say this, but… I eagerly await the day you’ll be King of Nohr. You’ll be a far greater man than your father, but not only that – you’ll be a good man, too.”

 

“Laslow…” Xander started, voice unusually rough, and Laslow met his eyes. His breath stuttered and he pressed up onto his tiptoes, cheeks flushing scarlet—

 

“Five minutes ‘til the joust, milord!”

 

They wrenched apart and Laslow went to grab another piece of armour, wide eyes trained on anything but Xander as a mantra of _oh gods oh gods oh gods what just happened oh gods what’s wrong with me what did I do what was I doing_ circled through his head.

 

“I’ll be ready, thank you,” Xander called, sounding completely normal. “Laslow, my gauntlet.”

 

“Y-yes, milord,” he stuttered, fastening it on, not looking up.

 

Xander brushed the tent flaps aside, grasping the hilt of his weapon.

 

“Lord Xander—” he called, clenching his fists. “Um. Good luck,” he said.

 

“Thank you, Laslow,” Xander said. “But I won’t be needing it.”

 

And he was gone.

 

Laslow collapsed onto a stool and buried his face in his hands.

 

_Oh, gods._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laslow, rather slowly, realises he's in love with Xander. He also spends an evening in a tavern with a group of older women.
> 
> Alternatively: oh no he's hot

It was Peri who found him, sitting inside Xander’s tent with his head in his hands.

She crept up behind him on tip-toes before grabbing his shoulders with a: “Boo!” and he definitely _didn’t_ squeak. But she giggled anyway and asked, “What’s up, Laslow? You look flushed. Are you sick?” She slapped her hand against his forehead and he winced at the force, but then smiled at the sentiment behind it.

“I’m quite all right, thank you, Peri,” he said, gently taking her hand and kissing her knuckles with a small wink. “How are you today?”

“Really good!” She grinned, all sharp teeth. “I love tourneys and jousting! When someone’s lance rips through someone’s armour and you see the blood gushing out—”

“Um. Actually, that sounds dreadful,” he said. “And I wouldn’t want anything like that to happen to Lord Xander.”

“No, no, but I’d like to be able to participate,” Peri said with a wistful look. “I wanna get a chance to do it too. I’m jealous.”

Laslow chuckled nervously. “Instead of that, wouldn’t you rather have some tea? I guarantee it’s much nicer to look at than blood.”

Peri looked dubious, but she beamed anyway. “I’ve never tried it, but okay! I’ll have tea with you, Laslow.”

He grimaced. Had she seen through his offer so easily? Not that he was lonely or anything like that, but… well… it would just be nice. Not sitting alone, drinking cold tea because he got lost in thoughts and forgot about it. But then there was also – “You’ve never had tea before?” he demanded.

She tilted her head. “Mm-mm. I like anything fizzy,” she said, “but I wasn’t allowed tea or anything growing up, and I never bothered trying it.”

Laslow grabbed her hand and stared at her with narrowed, serious eyes. “We must fix this,” he said, and yanked her out the tent.

And he didn’t just want to go to talk to that waitress. It had nothing to do with it and it didn’t bother him.

It didn’t, because, _why would it_?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Peri kicked her feet back and forth beneath her chair, seemingly oblivious to the stares of some older customers who scoffed at her behaviour. Laslow frowned when a woman sneered in Peri’s direction and when she looked at him as if to ask him to calm his companion, he just innocently raised his eyebrows in question, as if beckoning her to come and voice her complaints. She huffed and scowled down at her menu.

“Laaaslow,” Peri called, waving a hand in front of his face. “You spaced out,” she said.

“Oh. Oh, my apologies, Peri,” he said, smiling apologetically. “But the terrace has such lovely vines, don’t you think?” He inclined his head to the overarching supports that were lined with winding dark vines. “I do wish more flowers would grow in Nohr.” He sighed.

Peri’s lips twitched. “You’re a romantic, aren’t you, Laslow?” she said, nodding to herself.

He flushed a little. “Uh, what?”

“You like stuff like that. When you flirt, you always ask if girls want tea and stuff. Niles just says creepy stuff,” she said, and paused. “But it seems to work for him…”

“All right, you needn’t remind me,” he groused.

“You’re pouting.”

“Am not.”

“Are so!”

“Am—”

“Ahem.” They both looked up to see a waitress there – the one from the other day, who’d given Xander… “If you’re done,” she said, raising a brow, but looking more amused than anything, “can I take your orders?”

“Laslow says I’m to try tea,” Peri piped up. “I like sweet stuff.”

“Then perhaps you’d like rooibos,” the waitress said.

At Peri’s blank look, Laslow added, “It’s got a sort of nutty taste, but also rather sweet.”

The waitress made a little noise and grinned at him. “You know your tea, don’t you?”

He blushed a bit at the attention. “Ah, well… I’ve been here enough to learn from the best,” he teased. His heart eased a little. For some reason, he’d had some reservations about coming here, but he could still act as he usually did around her. That’s right, he was his normal self.

She winked. “I try my best,” she said, and then, “So, what would you like, Laslow?”

“I’d – actually, can I just… I’m surprised you know my name,” he said, scratching behind his ear shyly.

She tilted her head. “You’ve been here enough,” she repeated, smiling. “Everyone here is grateful. You’ve been coming since we first opened up.”

Laslow blinked, surprised she remembered. “Oh. W-well, thank you,” he said, cheeks warming more after he stuttered. Ahhh, he’d never been able to completely rid himself of that… He looked up to find both Peri and the waitress smiling at him, and flushed more before dipping down to stare at the menu. “Erm. I suppose I’ll have rooibos too. Oh, and I believe Peri would enjoy some cake.”

“Oh!” She perked up, wiggling in her seat. “Can I have – um… Ohhh, there’s so many…”

“Pick a couple, I’ll buy them for you,” Laslow offered.

“Hey, have some on the house,” the waitress said. “Since you’re our number one customer.”

“Oh, no, we couldn’t—”

“Really, it’s fine,” the girl said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her shoulder. It was dark enough to pass for black, actually, and it was surprising to see someone with such dark hair around this part of Nohr. He was glad her business was doing so well. “But, um…” She fidgeted, picking at some paper in her notepad.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked.

“Well…” She flushed and pursed her lips before – “Could you give one to Prince Xander for me?” came out in a rush.

Peri giggled. “Ooh, Lord Xander has a giiirlfriend,” she sung, grinning, but stopped when she looked at Laslow.

“I-I understand if you can’t. I know it’s – it’s not my place, but…”

Laslow looked at her. Her eyes averted nervously, but met his again, filled with wavering determination and hope, and for some reason he felt annoyed. His heart was beating a little too fast and he wasn’t sure why. Was he jealous of Xander? Not… not really. Xander was his friend. Xander didn’t use his position to his advantage, didn’t give out orders, didn’t shirk his duties. And while Laslow flirted with every woman he saw – because every woman was equally as lovely – he wasn’t particularly fixated on this girl. So, why… why did he feel like this?

“Sorry,” she said, after the silence stretched for too long. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get your tea. Oh, and the cakes are still on the house.” She turned.

“Wait,” Laslow said, his own words muffled in his ears. “No. We – we can take one to Lord Xander for you. He’d… probably appreciate it.” He tried to grin and thought he’d managed it well enough. “He needs more sweet things in his life.” He winked, practiced, perfect, and the girl laughed and left, a spring in her step this time.

His gaze dropped to his hands. His left palm was still wrapped in a bandage from the cut the other night. Then there was the small scar from Minerva, and another – closer to his wrist – where he’d shoddily deflected an arrow aimed at Lucina. That was before they’d gone back in time though, when they were kids and still training.

It felt like it had been hundreds of years since then.

He was jostled from the thought when Peri kicked him under the table. She was pouting when he looked at her. “You were ignoring me!”

“Oh, gods, sorry, Peri. I wasn’t ignoring you, promise,” he said, “I was just… lost in thought.”

“About Lord Xander?”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Sort of. Not really.”

“What else then?” she asked.

“My old home,” he whispered, looking down. “It’s… so far away. I wonder if I’ll ever return.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes until the waitress returned with a tray holding a china tea set on top of a floral doily. She beamed as she placed it between them, and then handed a brown bag, tied up with string, to Laslow. He took it with numb fingers.

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it, a lot. Oh – the one for Prince Xander is the slice of blackforest gâteau. The rest is all yours.” She grinned and waved at them both before running back inside.

Laslow sat quietly for a few moments. Peri squirmed in her seat for a while before prying the paper bag from his fingers and digging through it and taking a decorated mille-feuille and nearly dropping it. She bit into it with vigour and cream erupted from the sides which she hurriedly tried to lick before it fell.

Laslow tried not to laugh, he truly did. But he couldn’t help it. He held a hand to his mouth and stifled chuckles behind it. When Peri pouted at him, they turned into giggles. “Sorry. I’m sorry, Peri. But your face—”

She stuck her tongue out at him and then squawked when more cream poured from the sides of her cake. Laslow chuckled into the rim of his cup of tea as she battled with her baked goods.

“Hey, ishn’t—” Peri started.

“Please finish eating first,” Laslow said, but he was smiling.

Peri nibbled faster and licked her fingers before gulping it down and saying again, “Isn’t Lord Xander’s birthday next week?”

Laslow blinked. Oh, yes, it was. 27th of October, wasn’t it? He shook his head. He was abysmal with birthdays. He hadn’t celebrated his in… a long, long time. He vaguely recalled small, cramped parties when he was but a toddler. He and all the other kids sort of collectively shared one day a year for a birthday, since funds were so depleted. But his mother would make such a big cake, decorated delicate pastels and covered with flower-shaped icing. He couldn’t recall presents, but he remembered singing and dancing and laughter, and those were his best memories until they went back to find their parents – alive.

“We should do something!” Peri declared, diving through the back for another snack. “But what?”

“If we asked, he’d probably tell us not to make a fuss, or some other nonsense,” Laslow mumbled, and Peri nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “Perhaps we could arrange a small party, with just our friends and Lord Xander’s family?” he suggested, placing his chin in his hands as he thought. He wouldn’t want a big fuss made out of it, but he’d probably end up being forced to enjoy himself if Elise and Camilla had anything to say about it.

“That’s a good idea, Laslow,” Peri agreed, sipping at her tea. She’d already finished that second cake…? “We can bake him something!”

“We should,” he agreed, smiling softly. It was nice to see her so excited – over cakes instead of blood and war and fighting. That shouldn’t be what got her out of bed in the morning. “In any case, we’d best head back. Lord Xander’s probably participating now.”

_A flash of blue – the favour on his arm—_

“Yup, let’s go!”

He stared at the ground the whole way back.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Peri had stolen all but two cakes, but waited with Laslow in the tent until Xander returned. He’d had to maintain his public appearance and so Camilla took his arm and dragged him through the crowd who congratulated him on, unsurprisingly, winning the jousting tournament. Laslow knew Xander didn’t much enjoy the tourney and enjoyed the aftermath even less, but he was a prince and had little choice but to endure all the compliments.

With it, however, came Leo’s unspoken insecurity that Xander wasn’t even aware of. Laslow had tried to offer some words of comfort once, but Leo just denied anything and stormed off.

Laslow wasn’t sure why he’d never felt any competitiveness towards Xander like he’d had with Gerome. But even when he first arrived in Nohr and had to “prove himself,” – Xander’s words – he’d just been amused. He never felt like he had to live up to anyone’s expectations here, or that he had to surpass Xander to look better in comparison. He was just… a good friend.

That’s all.

The tent flaps flew open and Xander’s stern face met their gazes. He huffed a sigh.

“You won!” Peri cheered, sliding off the table. “Remember back when you picked me from a tourney? _I_ didn’t win back then. You’re so cool, Prince Xander! So cool that a girl from the tea shop gave us a present to bring you!”

“And remember when I told you it wasn’t where you placed that mattered, but your fighting spirit that I admired?” he countered, some tension easing from his shoulders as he smiled at her. But then he raised an eyebrow. “Girl from the… Oh, yes, I do recall. She gave you something?”

Peri looked at Laslow, who had the gâteau neatly inside the paper back clenched in his hands. He uncurled his fist, not having realised he’d done it at all, and stretched out his arm to hand it to Xander. “My, my, milord,” he teased, “looks like someone’s popular with the ladies. I do believe I heard a few faint out there.”

Xander frowned at him. “Hush, Laslow,” he said, and peered into the bag. “Chocolate cake. That’s very nice of her. We should repay her somehow.”

“It’s black forest gâteau!” Peri said.

“She likely chose it based on your _dark and mysterious_ appearance,” added Laslow with a cheeky grin.

“The rest are mine,” said Peri defensively, holding her own bag to her chest. “Can I go?” she requested, and then: “Please?”

“Of course, Peri,” Xander said with a fond smile, “You’re dismissed.”

She left with a cheerful _yaaaaaaay_ that drifted into silence.

“I should probably pay that girl,” Xander said, staring at the back like it might bite him.

“It was a gift,” Laslow said, rolling his eyes as he went to remove Xander’s heavy armour. “From a lovely lady, no less. She doesn’t want money for it.”

Xander looked contrite and Laslow couldn’t fathom why. But Lucina and Chrom made that face a lot. Perhaps it was an Exalt thing.

“Besides,” he found himself saying as he fiddled with a pauldron, struggling to untangle it, “she gave you that favour, didn’t she?”

Why was he asking this?

“She must like you.”

Because they were friends. He was curious.

Xander’s sigh sounded irritated. “Why do you keep bringing this sort of thing up? I’ve told you, I’m not – I can’t… do that sort of thing.”

Laslow swallowed down a weird feeling creeping up his throat. “Would you?” he asked, too quiet. His voice was a stark contrast to the cheers and animated talking outside. “Court her. If you could.” His hands were sweaty and shaky as he tried to untie the next pauldron.

Xander inhaled deeply and looked at the plain paper bag in his hands, and then to the blue favour tied around his arm. “I don’t know.”

The pauldron clattered to the floor.

“What – Laslow—”

“Sorry, milord!” he said, grabbing it quickly and placing it back onto its rack. “I’ve been so clumsy today. Don’t know what’s wrong with me. All the excitement from the tourney, probably—”

Xander narrowed his eyes as he frowned at him. It was too unlike Laslow to act so inelegantly and drop so many things; Xander must have thought there was something wrong with him.

Maybe there was. He wasn’t sure either.

“Well,” Xander said carefully, “don’t overdo it. Peri will be attending to me this evening, so you can retire early.” He clapped him on the shoulder. His hand was heavy and Laslow wondered if it was warm. His cheeks coloured at the thought and he coughed awkwardly. “Get some rest, Laslow. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, milord,” he breathed.

He left the tent and paused, leaning against one of the castle’s walls. He covered his mouth with a hand and willed the prickling heat in his face to simmer down.

“Ahh, what’s wrong with me…? Perhaps I am getting sick,” he mumbled.

The sound of girls giggling pricked at his ears and he turned to see a group wandering towards the nearest town. He looked to Xander’s tent, remembered being told to “get some rest,” and then headed into town.

It wasn’t like he’d know.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He ended up in an old tavern. It had been here before Laslow had arrived in Nohr; it was swathed in vines and hidden in the shade of a giant oak tree. He sidled up to the bar and ordered a drink and offered a small smile to the group of girls he’d seen earlier. One whispered something and the others giggled, so he chanced wandering up to them. “My, what lovely ladies,” he said. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“We’re full,” one said. “Sorry.” Even though there were three empty seats.

He just smiled, a bit awkwardly. “Oh, well… all right…”

“Over here, cutie!”

He turned to see a gaggle of older women waving him over. He paled and made a face while the young girls behind him started giggling under their breath. He sighed and strolled over to them anyway. Better than no company at all.

“Why are you here by yourself, sweetie?” a lady asked.

He blushed a bit at the nickname and the ladies cooed. He cleared his throat. “Um. Just fancied a drink, I suppose.”

“We’re celebrating Lily’s birthday,” another said.

“Which lovely lady is Lily, then?” Laslow asked.

A very small old lady with snow white hair laughed and raised her hand. “I forgot,” she admitted. “I thought we were celebrating the joust.”

Everyone laughed and Laslow smiled and asked, “Forgive my rudeness, but may I ask which birthday it is we’re celebrating?”

“It’s her eighty-fifth,” a girl volunteered. “I’m her granddaughter. I turned eighteen last week and I’m now tasked with being the sober one who accompanies the old ladies to the tavern.” She made a face.

“How responsible,” he said, chuckling. “And how beautiful Miss Lily is. I wouldn’t have thought you were a day over sixty.”

“Oh, what a charmer,” said Lily, before grinning wickedly. “I shan’t be fooled! I’m sure you’re a shameless flirt.”

“Me? No, never,” he answered seriously, looking offended.

“Ah, we’re all out of drinks!” another lady cried, looking a bit too dismayed.

“I’ll go get more drinks,” the granddaughter volunteered, probably wanting peace from the flock of cackling older women.

Laslow continued chatting with them until a shriek cut through the tavern. He looked up to see Lily’s granddaughter frowning nervously up at a bald man. He was leaning over her and grinning and Laslow stood without thinking.

He’d stepped in front of the girl, saying, “Ahh, sister, I almost couldn’t find you in here, it’s so dark.”

She’d stared at him and he’d mouthed “go,” and she said, “I’m sorry, brother. I’ll wait for you in the corner, okay?” and backed away slowly.

Laslow had turned to the man who looked oddly familiar – hadn’t Xander arrested him once…? – but it didn’t matter either way. “I think you’ve had enough to drink, sir. It might be best if you—”

“Oi, I wasn’t talkin’ to you. I was talkin’ to yer sister,” he’d said and Laslow tried not to grimace at his smoky breath.

“Well, I don’t think she wanted to speak with you anymore,” he’d replied, coolly, “so why don’t you—”

And that was all he’d gotten out before the blighter punched him. He staggered and caught himself against the bar. He swiped off the trickle of blood on his lip before glaring through his bangs.

“There’s no need to start a fight,” he warned, but the man yanked him up by his collar and shoved him against a wooden support. Laslow’s breath was knocked out of him and he winced when his head hit the wood. “Hold, _friend_ ,” he warned, “it would be in your best interests not to start something you cannot finish.”

_It would be in my best interests because if Xander finds out I got into a fight I don’t know what he’ll do to me_ , he thought.

“I’m not your friend!” was the best the guy could counter with, and then threw another heavy punch to Laslow. He slipped out of his grip and ducked the punch, twisting on the ground to send a dense kick to behind his knees. His legs caved in and Laslow stood over him with a frown.

“I’d advise you not to harass anyone,” he said coldly.

The man glared up at him, furious and humiliated, and Laslow jumped when the door slammed open to reveal two guards. “Someone reported a fight,” one said wearily, like he _really_ didn’t want to be dragged outside so late for this. Her eyes snapped onto Laslow and he tensed. “You, boy—”

“It wasn’t him!” the granddaughter piped up. “That guy,” she said, pointing to the floored man under Laslow’s foot, “started, um. He started talking to me. It was a little scary. He saved me.” She smiled at him, thankfully, and he stared back in surprise.

The guard looked like she really didn’t care who started it and just wanted some sleep so she said, “Fine. Haul ‘im in,” and turned on her heel. The guard accompanying her grumbled under his breath, grabbed the offending man and tied his hands together, and shoved him out the door.

It creaked shut behind them, and –

The tavern erupted into cheers. Laslow startled, tensing when someone threw their arm around his shoulders and another one shoved a pint of ale into his hands.

“Um—”

“Three cheers for our new friend, the hero!” shouted one of the older women from earlier.

He blushed darkly. “U-uh—um. Instead, h-how’s about three cheers for Lily, on her eighty-f-fifth birthday?” he stuttered, eyes flickering to the floor. Ahh, this attention was a bit much…

“To Lily!” the bar cried, all too drunk to care.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was practically dawn when Laslow staggered back to the castle. The guards just rolled their eyes at him; he’d done this a handful of times, enough to be remembered for it. They let him in, but one commented, “Prince Xander won’t be pleased.”

“Prince Xander won’t know,” he retorted, voice a little hoarse from use. He hadn’t gotten into trouble – much. Not enough for Xander to have been notified, anyway. So he’d flirted with some girls. And gotten into a brawl. And nearly gotten arrested.

He was back _now_.

He hadn’t actually done anything _wrong_.

And he wouldn’t know, anyway.

“Wow, Laslow, you look awful!”

He shut his eyes. Damn, so it was obvious.

But he turned around with a smile plastered on his face to greet Elise. “Hello, milady.” And then he thought, _Elise is likely a good person to ask about Xander’s birthday…_

“Are you unwell?” she asked, leaning up to squint at him. “Xander won’t like that.”

“No, I’m quite all right, but thank you,” he said, but then – “Prince Xander won’t – what?” This was news to him.

“He was super worried last time you were sick!” she declared, hands on her hips, although her childish pout eroded any possible authority that might have given her.

“He was?” Laslow blinked. He could scarcely recall the last time he’d been sick. All he remembered was locking himself away in his chambers until it ended.

“He worries about you a lot,” she said, nodding. “And he worries a lot as it is. Don’t give him any more reason to.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good!” She beamed, pigtails bouncing as she spun around. “Well, I’d best get back to Effie and Arthur. They worry too.”

“Ah – wait, Princess,” he called, and she screeched to a halt on her tiptoes. “Um.” Why had he stopped her? Asking about Xander’s birthday… wouldn’t that be weird? But now she was waiting and this was becoming increasingly awkward so – “Xan – Prince Xander’s birthday is soon,” he said, adjusting his tunic nervously, “and I was. Well. You seem like a good person to ask about making cakes.”

She brightened and held her hands to her mouth, eyes glittering. “Oh my gosh! Yes! Amazing idea, Laslow! We should make a cake for Xander! I’m pretty sure he likes chocolate cake. He’d say simple things are best, but he’d always sneak off with my chocolate cookies I’d made when we were younger.” She grinned. “When shall we make it? Ohhh, I’m so excited! We’ve not celebrated birthdays for a while; it’s been so busy…” she trailed off, voice just too quiet, and stared at her feet for a moment.

Laslow didn’t want these guys to go through what he’d gone through before with his old friends. They deserved some happiness.

“It’s in five days, so perhaps the day before?” he suggested, and Elise blinked away whatever thoughts had clouded her vision, and smiled up at him.

“Sounds perfect. Camilla and Leo can help with decorating – they’re both really good at it. I’m too short. And clumsy.”

“I confess, I’ve been rather clumsy lately too,” he said with a wince. “In the last week, I’ve broken a milk jug, cut myself on the pieces, and yesterday I dropped Xander’s armour at least twice.”

“You don’t seem the clumsy type,” she said.

“I hadn’t thought so either.” He sighed. “Speaking of Xander, though, I suppose I’d better go find him.” He winced.

“Don’t worry, Xander likes you!” Elise said, as if it was a consolation. She patted him on the arm and then skipped off.

Laslow felt a little embarrassed at the words, but it was overwhelmed by a sense of dread at the thought of arriving late to Xander’s chambers looking – well, like he’d been in a fight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“You’re late,” Xander said, predictably, as soon as he’d entered his quarters, but he didn’t look up from his work. “Care to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“This and that,” Laslow replied with a small grin.

“Would ‘this’ consist of flirting with unsuspecting women?” Xander asked, sighing loudly. “I’ve received some more complaints from townspeople regarding a ‘dastard’ flirting with them.”

“Ah,” said Laslow, “and would you happen to know the identity of this gorgeous fiend?” he asked, winking.

“It was _you_ , Laslow! Again!” and then finally looked up from his documents – only to balk. “Gods, what happened to you?” he asked, standing abruptly.

Laslow chuckled nervously. “Got what I deserved, I suppose,” he said, but then – “Lord Xander, have you ever arrested a bald man? Unsightly appearance, bit of a thug, should have been wearing some more clothing?”

Xander raised an eyebrow, befuddled by the turn in conversation, but then nodded once and said, “Actually, yes. I wouldn’t have recognised from your description unless I’d seen him recently.” He made a face. “Father released him, for whatever reason. As I thought, he did turn his back on Corrin and the others, the _bastard_.” Venom dripped from the word and Laslow tried not to smile. He knew Xander still loved his sister.

“Well, I has the misfortune of encountering him last night,” he said, and Xander’s gaze snapped to him. “Got into a bit of a tiff, you see. He’d been harassing a girl – no, I wasn’t doing anything, I’d spoken to her briefly because she was the granddaughter of Lily, who was celebrating her eighty-fifth birthday last night, and—”

“Wait, what?” Xander looked completely lost and Laslow laughed.

“It sounds more complicated than it is.”

“But you fought him?” Xander asked, but it sounded like a statement.

Laslow shrugged nervously in response. “I didn’t _want_ to. I didn’t want you to… find… out…” he mumbled awkwardly, flushing and looking away.

_I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me._

He jolted when Xander’s hand touched his cheek. “Wh-wh—”

“You’re a good man, Laslow,” Xander said, smiling, and Laslow’s face burned.

“N-no, I – I just… just…”

Xander chuckled and dropped his hand and Laslow almost reached for it. “For someone so confident in their flirting abilities, you fluster awfully quickly when complimented.”

Laslow reached up to brush a strand of hair out of his way, just to give himself something to do, and looked away. “Milord, please…”

“Apologies, Laslow,” Xander said, still smiling that soft, fond smile that Laslow had only started seeing recently, and his legs felt a bit too gooey.

“’S fine…” he mumbled, rubbing his too-warm cheek, and busying himself with mindless chores as Xander got back to work.

His heart wouldn’t calm down. This… this was bad, wasn’t it?

He glanced at Xander. He’d taken off his thorny circlet and his blond hair fell to frame his face, curling slightly at the ends. It looked soft and probably smelled as nice as his blanket. His brows were furrowed and his mouth was set in a stern line (and Laslow knew it was because he really didn’t enjoy all the boring work he had to do, but he did it anyway). But when his eyes flickered up to meet his and they were dark and purple and Xander smiled.

“It’s not a bad day, is it?” Xander said while Laslow willed his heart to stop thrumming so loudly in his ears. “How about we do some training together?”

Laslow managed to squeak out a, “Yes.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They trained until the sky was dark indigo and the moonlight illuminated the field.

Laslow collapsed into the grass, chest heaving from exertion, and laughed. “You’re too much for me, milord,” he said.

Xander planted his sword in the ground and then fell beside him, also trying to catch his breath. “If only that were true,” he said, “but you’re a bit much for _me_.”

Laslow grinned. “You flatter me.” And he looked at Xander as he gazed up at the sky, eyes half closed and mouth upturned into the smallest smile, and he softened a little. But then Xander looked at him and he tensed, looking away quickly and pretending (poorly) that he hadn’t been staring at him.

“You were a dancer, weren’t you?” Xander asked.

“Uh,” Laslow said, skin prickling uncomfortably. “I am, yes. How did you know? I don’t believe I’ve mentioned it.” Had he seen him, when he’d snuck out late to practice? Ahh, that’d be so embarrassing. He just… didn’t want to forget how to do it. It would feel like forgetting his mother.

“You’re incredibly fast but your movements are… flowing? I suppose?” Xander said, sounding unsure of his words.

It wasn’t an outright compliment, but Laslow felt himself blushing nonetheless. He could never handle people talking about his dancing… “Ah… th-thank you, milord.”

“Would you dance for me?” Xander asked, a small, hopeful smile on his face that made Laslow’s breath catch in his throat. “You don’t have to, of course, but it sounds like it means a lot to you. I’m curious.”

“I’m not very good,” Laslow blurted out. “I’m nowhere near as good as my mother. She was amazing.”

And he knew he’d said something wrong when Xander’s smile vanished and his brows knitted together. “Was?”

Laslow blinked slowly and then shook his head. “Is. Sorry, she _is_ amazing. Force of habit.”

“Laslow, your mother… is she…?”

“She’s not dead,” – _not anymore, not in that time_ – “It’s rather… complicated.”

Xander’s sigh was quieter than usual, and he had an odd look on his face as he turned to look at the moon again. “You’ve grown to be my closest friend, Laslow,” he said, “and yet I know nothing about you.”

And Laslow felt like a rock had fallen on him, crushing him with guilt, and he wanted – actually _wanted_ to tell him everything – _my name’s Inigo, my real name, and in my home world my friends and I saw our families die, but we went back to stop that, and I’ve travelled through space and time just to help you win this war and part of me doesn’t want to go but_ … but…

What?

“…” He stood, fingers feeling numb. He didn’t want to leave Xander after all this. Didn’t want to go forever without seeing him smile at him or hearing his deep voice or just… being near him.

“Laslow? What are you doing?”

He felt his cheeks warm a little, but Xander couldn’t see in the dark. Probably. “I’m going to dance for you,” he said, quietly, and flushed darker when Xander sat up to stare at him. “D-don’t laugh.”

“I wouldn’t. Unless you’re terrible.”

He chuckled softly, and then inhaled deeply to calm himself down.

And then he danced.

He thought of his mother and her long, dainty arms flying out like wings as she danced. Her legs twisting as she spun and her closed eyes as she focused on something not in the world so she wouldn’t think too hard and mess it up. He thought of Lucina, always a leader, always the first to fight for her friends, and thought of her mask and how she had to hide too sometimes. He thought of Gerome, how he’d started wearing his mask after his mother and father died, to hold back his feeling and focus on winning the war, but his kindness never wavered. He thought of Chrom and Robin and longed to be under their rule again, missed the too-kind Exalt who would never allow his children to be as lonely as Xander had been growing up.

And then he thought of Xander again. Xander, who had lost his previous retainers, his first friends, and how he blamed himself. Xander, who looked out for his siblings the only way he knew how – by training them and aiding them in battle. Xander, who knew him better than anyone and still didn’t know his name.

He opened his eyes, breathing heavily, an arm held in front of his chest while another was outstretched. He met Xander’s gaze and dropped his pose, swiping a beat of sweat from his chin, and averted his gaze.

“Y – that was beautiful,” Xander said after a moment.

Laslow blushed fiercely and held a hand over his cheek.

“You’re so red,” Xander teased, smirking.

“Mmmph.” Laslow turned away to hide his face, not sure why he was so horrifically embarrassed. “P-please stop, milord.”

“I didn’t know you could be so shy, Laslow. It’s quite sweet, you know.”

“Pleaaase…”

“The flirtatious Laslow, blushing when paid a compliment. It’s almost poetic. It’s quite adorable—”

“XANDER!” Laslow squawked, face buried in his hands, reeling from the compliments. _A-adorable? He thinks I’m adorable? But I’m – he’s— oh, gods, wait._ “S-sorry, milord, I shouldn’t have called you—”

“No,” Xander said, softly, “I like it. It’s a bit odd, having a friend call me ‘milord,’ and whatnot. When we’re alone, call me by my name.” He smiled, looking a bit shy himself, and Laslow felt like his heart shrivelled up.

“A… all right…” he murmured, “Xander.”

“I’m grateful to have you for a friend, Laslow,” Xander told him, and then heaved himself up. “Come, we should return and get some sleep. Oh, by the way,” he said, and Laslow looked up at him, feeling, for the first time, just a little shy under Xander’s towering height. “You’re a wonderful dancer. Your mother must be proud, wherever she is.”

It was then that Laslow thought: _oh no_ , and tripped over a branch.

“Laslow!”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Oh no_ , thought Laslow, every day since then.

It was the 27th of October, Xander’s birthday, and he’d made the cake with Elise last night. Of course, Arthur pitched in and helped because it only felt right. Effie tried to steal some of the cake but Arthur bribed her away with the remaining icing in the bowl, so Elise and Laslow completed the five-tier cake without mishap.

It was the centrepiece of the table now; Arthur had carried it out while Effie gazed longingly in the background.

“Shall I burst out of the cake and offer our dear Prince Xander a dance?” Niles offered and – _Where did he come from?_ wondered Laslow.

“If anyone dances for my dear brother, it will be Laslow,” said Camilla, and smiled sultrily down at Laslow with knowing eyes.

“H-how did you—?” he stammered, but cut himself off when everyone looked at him. He flushed and tried to cover it up with a wink. “I’m grateful for the compliment, milady.” And everyone went back to their tasks. But he couldn’t shake the memory of dancing for Xander days ago in the moonlight, nor the embarrassment and… and whatever else had come with it.

“Are we nearly done? I’ve got papercuts,” Peri said, pouting.

“Yeah, I’m tired,” Keaton agreed, stretching out, ears twitching.

“Yes, let’s take a break,” Laslow said. “Thank you for your hard work everyone.”

“Oh, when shall we bring my brother down?” Elise asked. “Eeeee, this is so exciting! And who’s gonna get him?”

“How about his dear retainers?” Camilla suggested.

“Huh?” Laslow and Peri both asked, both with very different tones.

“It might be odd for his siblings to retrieve him,” Leo agreed, snapping his book shut and – had he helped at all? “None of us normally fetch him for anything.”

“But I’ve got papercuts,” Peri insisted, frowning.

“Oh, for the love of – Elise, please, help her,” Leo said, rolling his eyes.

Laslow stared helplessly. “But I—”

“Go on, Laslow,” Niles purred with a small smug smirk that suggested too many things that Laslow was definitely not thinking about. “Go fetch your prince.”

“He’s not my – well, he is, but – oh, for… all right.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He hesitated before Xander’s door for the first time.

He wasn’t sure why he’d felt so uncharacteristically nervous around him lately. Just a few nights ago, Xander had called them _friends_. He’d said to call him by his name. Laslow was… honestly, really happy. He hadn’t been so content since they’d left Ylisse.

And… he really liked being with Xander. He felt too warm around him sometimes, and his heart fluctuated when their fingers brushed as they walked, and he looked forward to sparring along with him. He was glad he was receiving Xander’s true smiles, even though he hadn’t realised he’d even noticed them, and he found himself smiling at him without thinking sometimes. He wanted to tell him his real name, his real homeland, his real past, and it hurt a little that he had to hide so much from him when Xander was opening up to him.

He just. He just liked being around him. And talking to him, spending time with him and – and that’s what friends did together, wasn’t it?

He raised a hand to knock on the door, only to nearly stumble when it was wrenched open before he could.

“Laslow!”

“Xander!” they said at the same time.

“Sorry, I—”

“No, my apologies, I shouldn’t have—”

They paused, then laughed.

“Please, go ahead, Laslow.”

“Oh, right. Well, Lady Elise has baked some cake and was hoping you’d show your face for once,” Laslow reported, folding his arms behind his back. “That’s why I didn’t bring up your lunch. Sorry about that.” He grinned.

“That’s quite all right, I’ve been fi—” His stomach gurgled loudly in complaint just to betray him and he flushed slightly. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “I may have gotten a bit too used to you pampering me.” He smiled. “Well, go on, let’s head to the kitchen before my sister complains.”

Laslow was about to speak when Xander strode right beside him and their hands brushed. He tensed and swallowed thickly around the sudden air caught in his throat. He felt sweat bead on his hand and clenched his tingling fingers into a fist. He glanced down at Xander’s hand. It was big, bigger than his own, and he had long fingers and a myriad of tiny scars from training, and ink stains from his work.

“—low? The kitchens are this way,” Xander said, tilting his head in their direction.

Laslow blinked, too slowly, and said, “Oh, right. Actually, she took them into the dining hall. A few of the others were chatting in there, so…” he trailed off a bit awkwardly, but his mind had somehow turned to goo.

“Indeed? How odd,” said Xander, but shrugged. “Well, lead on.”

Laslow should have been looking _forwards_ but instead he was looking at _Xander_ and managed stumbled over his own feet. Xander caught him with an arm around his waist and he accidentally grabbed his arms to steady himself.

“How _are_ you so clumsy?” Xander asked, baffled. “You dance and fight so elegantly. You just get odder, Laslow.”

Laslow scrambled to stand on his own and tugged at his sleeves uselessly. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what’s wrong with me,” he admitted helplessly, and grinned, abashed. “What’s say we forget that and go get some of your sister’s cakes?”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They stepped into the dining hall and Xander squinted through the darkness. “I thought Elise and the others were supposed to be in here. Do you suppose they left?”

At the sound of his voice, Leo must have taken his cue, because the myriad of candles in the room suddenly illuminated, one by one, until the room was enveloped in a soft glow.

And then—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, XANDER!”

Streamers and confetti exploded and some of it fell in Xander’s hair. He stared, eyes wide, at all the people grinning and holding poppers – and then to the ceiling, covered with banners and bunting – and then to the tables, filled with sweet things and treats and a huge chocolate cake covered in cream icing and packed with colourful candles – and then, finally, to Laslow, who was grinning shyly through a small blush.

“Happy birthday, milord,” he said, but Xander didn’t have a chance to respond before Elise grabbed his arm and tugged him over to the cake.

Her words were muffled by the cloudiness in his ears when she spoke but he caught “Laslow and I made the cake together,” and then glanced over to him again.

He was standing near a corner, arms folded, and Niles and Camilla seemed to be grinning at him and that couldn’t have been good for his health. His face was bright red, the poor man, but he wasn’t able to go save him with Elise divulging how they’d planned it all.

“Let’s eat already,” Effie finally said, unable to restrain herself any longer.

Everyone piled onto one of the long tables, squished close together, with Xander at the head. His siblings were closest to him, but Laslow was tucked by Camilla’s side.

“How about a speech from our noble leader?” Arthur called.

Xander tried to school his features into a diplomatic smile. “Perhaps it would be better simply to tuck in—”

“Speech! Speech!” Peri and Elise chorused.

“Go on, brother,” Camilla insisted.

Xander sighed. She knew he hated speaking in front of crowds, blast it. But he stood, and raised his glass. “I can honestly say I didn’t expect this,” he admitted. “But I am just as grateful as I am surprised. We do not celebrate happy events often enough,” he said, “but we need to remember to find happiness even in times of great sadness.” He caught Laslow’s gaze and Laslow froze, eyes wide. “I have learnt that recently. No matter our losses, night will not last forever. So, thank you, friends. I’m glad I can share this with you. Cheers.”

There was a small pause, everyone drinking in his words, when someone sniffled. Everyone glanced at Odin, who rubbed his nose. “So – so moving,” he said. “A speech worthy of honour! Cheers to our future king!”

Everyone smiled and raised their glasses. “Cheers!”

Laslow stared at Xander a few moments longer, but flushed and took a swig of his wine when their eyes met.

They dug into the feast before them that they’d all worked so hard to prepare. Laslow spaced out throughout the evening, stealing more glances at Xander when he wasn’t looking. He seemed to be enjoying the food, which he was glad for; Xander forgot meals too often while he worked and trained, and it was nice he could have something so extravagant once and a while. Despite being a prince, he normally snacked on little things, and only the gods knew how long it had been since he’d last celebrated his birthday. Laslow poured his third glass of wine, feeling rather sleepy and warm as he watched Xander smile fondly at his younger brother and sister. It was good to see them getting along.

While the lull of conversation filled the room, Camilla leaned towards Laslow and said, “Thank you. For making my brother so happy.”

Laslow blinked, shocked, and blushed. “I – milady, I didn’t…” He shut his eyes. “Gods, I’ve been so tongue-tied today. Forgive me.”

She tilted her head. “Do tell,” she purred, sipping her wine. “Does it have anything to do with my dear older brother?”

“I. I don’t know,” Laslow mumbled, voice barely audible over the noise. “He’s – well. He’s a good friend. I don’t want to lose him.” He hiccoughed into the brim of his glass.

“Mm,” Camilla hummed. “Sounds like love to me.” She smiled, closed-eyed. “I love my brother too.”

Laslow blinked slowly, the alcohol blurring his thoughts together and it was too difficult to piece everything together. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “I guess I love him too then.” He smiled.

She grinned, a flash of white teeth.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“—aslow. Laslow, wake up.”

“Mmnn?” He blinked and yawned, peeking an eye open to look up to see Xander frowning at him. “What’re you doing here?”

“In the dining hall? You brought me here, remember?” He huffed and looked away. “How much did you let him drink, Camilla? Weren’t you watching him?”

“Oh, he’s an adult, brother,” she chimed, sloshing her – fourth? – fifth? – glass of wine in her hand. “He can drink if he wants. Besides, he’s so honest when he’s drunk.” She winked.

“Don’t take advantage of inebriated people, Camilla,” he said with a long-suffering sigh.

She pouted. “Don’t ruin my fun,” she countered. “But perhaps you should get him to bed. He seemed quite troubled earlier. Oh,” she said, tapping his arm as she passed him, “this party was his idea, by the way.” She beamed. “Goodnight, brother.” And then she wandered over to Selena, who was trying to glare through her tiredness while seemingly guarding the remnants of cake from Effie.

Xander looked down at Laslow, who had fallen asleep in the two minutes he’d spoken to Camilla. He sighed again, feeling very put-upon, and jostled his shoulder. “Laslow…” he said, quietly, bearing no real will to wake his retainer. “Well, don’t blame me for this later.” He slung one of Laslow’s arms over his shoulder and then heaved him up.

“Oh! Big brother, you’re off to – oh.” Elise stared at the burden in his arms before grinning, a little too slyly for her girlish face. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeated. He rarely understood Elise. “Camilla allowed Laslow to drink too much. I’m now tasked with taking him to his chambers.”

“He doesn’t need a babysitter, brother,” Leo said, glancing up from his book. “Although, perhaps he could have used more restraint. Still, he was already tired; he’s been decorating all day.”

“And he helped me make the cake last night!” Elise piped up.

“Did he now,” Xander breathed, looking down at Laslow. His sleeping face seemed so carefree. “Well, you’d best be off to bed too, the both of you,” he said. “Goodnight, Leo, Elise.”

“Night night, big brother!”

“Goodnight, brother.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Laslow woke up to a headache banging against his skull. He groaned and buried his face in his pillow.

He turned his head, squinting around the room, grateful – for once – for Nohr’s dark skies. He felt silk and looked down to find Xander’s blanket draped over him. Had he managed to crawl back to his chambers last night…?

But… wait, no. This wasn’t his bed. Or his room. And – it wasn’t the blanket he’s stol— _borrowed_. This was – this was Xander’s room and—

He jerked up and nearly passed out from the _pain in his head_. He frowned through it and nearly jumped out of bed when he saw Xander sitting in a chair in the corner, fast asleep, leaning on his hand.

His eyes widened and he blushed furiously. X-Xander had… had he carried him to bed? Wh-why his though? But wow, it was so big and soft and smelled of Xander.

Wait, what.

Okay, that was a weird thought.

Xander snorted a small snore and Laslow muffled a laugh. He slunk out of bed to slip a blanket over him. He’d put Xander in his bed, but… he wasn’t sure he could carry him without waking him.

He was smiling fondly down at him before he realised it.

_“Sounds like love to me.”_

_“Yeah… I guess I love him too then.”_

He stilled. His eyes widened. He staggered backward until his back hit the wall. Wait, what? He’d – had he said that last night?

His heart accelerated in his chest and he clutched at his tunic, doubling over.

He’d been drunk though, hadn’t he? And – and he – Xander was a _good friend_ ; of course he… cared for him, deeply.

_“I guess I love him too then.”_

He choked on a breath. He looked up; Xander was still asleep in that chair, but he was stirring, and – Laslow couldn’t be here right now.

He backed up towards the door and something clattered behind him as he spun to run from the room, a hand covering his mouth.

“H-hey, Laslow, what’s wrong with you—?”

Selena’s voice, he thought, but he could scarcely hear over the sound of his heart trying to break free from his chest. He ran until he reached his room, slammed the door shut behind him, and slunk down it until he was curled up on the floor, cradling his head.

“Oh, gods,” he whispered, “what _is_ wrong with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not confident about this chapter. I feel like not a lot of interesting things happened. And hopefully it's still not too OOC? Ehhh...
> 
> But next chapter he'll start writing his love letters (fricking finally, oh my god, I set out to do that in this fic and somehow it ended up being this long? I don't know what happened and I am so sorry), so until then, I hope you enjoyed celebrating Lily's eighty-fifth birthday and Xander's birthday. (I don't know who Lily is, but she exists now.)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway! I think there'll probably be two more? But I'm bad at estimating, so who knows. Last chapter wiiiill be rated M though, so... y'know. Yeah. Okay bye.
> 
> OH P.S.  
> HAS ANYONE BEEN KEEPING UP WITH E3? MUH HYPE


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